Sometime Around Midnight
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: "She's driving you insane, just like she always has: first with the lust you had to repress, then with the love you didn't know how to express, and now with the heartbreak you're certain you'll never move past." Mark sees Lexie at Joe's.


Author's Note: So I've found a new band to obsess over. This little story is based off of _Sometime Around Midnight _by the Airborne Toxic Event. Listen to the song. I couldn't have written a better one for Mark and Lexie if I'd tried.

_**. . .**_

_**And it starts, sometime around midnight.**_

_**Or at least that's when you lose yourself for a minute or two**_

_**. . .**_

_**As you stand, under the bar lights.**_

_**And the band plays some song about forgetting yourself for a while.**_

_**And the piano's this melancholy soundtrack to her smile.**_

_**And that white dress she's wearing, you haven't seen her for a while.**_

_**. . .**_

It's like a cheesy scene out of one of those romantic comedies as the dim lights in Joe's Emerald City Bar somehow manage to amplify her already radiant smile when she walks into the bar. You might not be the only person in Joe's fixated by her every move, but it sure feels like you are. It's one of those moments where you catch her eye and you feel like it's just the two of you in the room. You feel a smile take shape on your lips at the sight of her, an old habit you haven't bothered to quit, and you feel yourself fill with hope for the first time in months. You heard she and Avery had split a few days ago, and suddenly you realize: this might be your chance.

_**. . .**_

_**But you know that she's watching.**_

_**She's laughing, she's turning, she's holding her tonic like a cross.**_

_**The room's suddenly spinning. She walks up and asks how you are.**_

_**. . .**_

You stay in your stool by the bar, watching her progress as she moves through the rather crowded bar. When she comes to the counter she waves to Joe, and he signals that he'll be with her in a second. You take a breath, lean forward towards her, and wait until her swiveling gaze finally lands on you. Your characteristic smirk is spread across your lips as you watch her eyes widen slightly at your proximity.

"Picking up a guy, Grey?" You asks, trying to sound nonchalant while attempting to slow your quickening heartbeat with a sip of your scotch.

She stares at you in silence for a moment, and you immediately curse yourself out for being so stupid. But then she's chuckling quietly, her shoulders hunching forward, and you feel your smile turn genuine. She accepts her usual from Joe without replying to your question and turns back towards the dancing crowd. But as she walks away, she turns and looks over her shoulder.

"You want it to be you, don't you?" She asks with a smile.

Even as she walks away, towards a group full of potential men who could take your place, you feel your smile widen. If she's able to joke with you, she can't be too far gone from your grasp, can she?

_**. . .**_

_**So you can smell her perfume, you can see her lying naked in your arms.**_

_**. . .**_

_ "Was this a mistake?" She whispers. You stare into her eyes, feeling your arm tense and tighten around her body. It takes you a minute to register why her voice sounds so foreign and why you moved to protect her without even thinking: she's scared._

_ "A mistake?" You echo as you continue to stare at her. "Why would it be a mistake?"_

_ "Because…" She bites her lower lip, and you watch as the skin goes from red to white before returning to its original shade. "Because this was a spur-of-the-moment thing," she says finally._

_ "What?" You smirk. "Did you want me to have this all planned out or something?"_

_ "No." She shakes her head; you watch as her hair swirls around her face like a curtain. "I just… I don't want this to be one night," she admits softly. She shifts towards you as her voice lowers, and you're unsure if she did it because she was trying to get your attention or because she was looking for a safe place to hide._

_ It takes you a few seconds to reply. "It isn't just one night," you say finally. You stare at her, and you watch as her eyes widen slightly as yours narrow. "Why would this ever be just one night?"_

_ "Well," she murmurs, looking down and tracing patters on the sheets beneath you to avoid meeting your confused gaze. "I don't know if you still—"_

_ "If I still want you?" You guess. You watch as her eyes meet yours; you can see that scared look in them again. "If I still need you? You don't know if I still love you?"_

_ "Well…" She draws out the word, taking her time to stall for a filler, but when that doesn't work her words just come out generic and frightened. "Do you?"_

_ "Lexie," you murmur, moving forward. She doesn't look up at you; her fingers have returned to tracing patters on the bed sheets again. "Don't be stupid. Of course I want you. Of course I need you. And hey." You place your fingertips beneath her chin, raising her worried eyes to yours. "_**Of course**_ I still love you." You stare at each other for a minute like that, with your fingers lingering beneath her chin, until she sighs softly. You let your hand drop, and when it falls to the sheets, she takes it in hers._

_ "We'll figure this out," she says. Her voice waves slightly, and you aren't sure if she meant the phrase as a statement or a question. She looks you in the eye when she speaks again, and her voice is firmer this time—confident. "We'll figure this out together."_

_ You smile at her, placing a soft kiss on her lips. "Yes. We will."_

_**. . .**_

_**And so there's a change in your emotions. **_

_**And all those memories come rushing like feral waves to your mind.**_

_**Of the curl of your bodies, like two perfect circles entwined.**_

_**. . .**_

You've been watching her since she left the bar, an easy smile on your face. In the space of five minutes, you've imagined eight different ways this night could end with her in your arms or your bed (or up against the occasional brick wall, you fantasize when you start to get impatient). You're smiling along with your imaginings, trying to discern which will come to fruition, when you realize: none of them will.

You watch with a sick stomach as she laughs with a man at one of the small tables and you flinch when her hand touches his arm. You see a smile on her face, watch as her teeth spread wide in a laugh, and for the briefest moment you feel as if she's betrayed you.

You remember and replay in your mind all the times she has professed her love for you… But just like you used to joke would eventually happen, her love for you has finally faded. It hasn't lasted forever like she told you it would, after all.

You idiot. Why did you even believe her in the first place?

. . .

"_I love you. I'll love you forever."_

"_Forever?" You remember scoffing with a smirk. "Come on, Little Grey."_

"_What?" She had replied, and you could feel her smile against your back as her naked body lay spread out beside yours. "You don't want me to love you?"_

"_Of course I want you to love me. I just don't think 'forever' is very realistic."_

_She pressed a kiss to your back, and her lips had trailed across your trapezius and traced the curve of your muscles. "I'll just have to convince you, then, won't I?"_

_You smiled and turned your head from the pillow to meet her bright eyes and happy smile behind you. You rolled over then, and pulled her warm body toward yours and lifted your hands to her face. You stroked her skin with your fingers, trailing your thumbs over her cheekbones delicately. "Convince me," you had told her._

_ "Is that a dare?" She had guessed, smiling between your hands. You remember shrugging, tilting your head to the side as if it didn't matter. Her smiled had widened into a grin and she'd pushed forward, her lips covering yours as your hands fall from her face. Your fingers had quickly found their place around her waist, pulled her close, and you remember smiling when she'd giggled against your mouth a second later._

_ "Oh, I'll convince you," she had promised, her voice ringing with laughter. "Don't you worry."_

_**. . .**_

_**And you feel hopeless and homeless and lost in the haze of the wine.**_

_**Then she leaves, with someone you don't know.**_

_**But she makes sure you saw her. She looks right at you and bolts.**_

_**. . .**_

You're still numb from the memory fading within your mind when your eyes find her again. You catch her, just as she's getting to her feet. Her eyes meet yours, and the happy smile she'd shared with the man from the bar freezes on her face. You hold her gaze for as long as she allows it: only a few seconds before turning back to her date for the night.

But you don't look down when she does. You keep your eyes trained on her, hoping that somehow she'll be able to feel the weight of your gaze and call you out on it. You hope that somehow she'll be able to sense how desperately you've been waiting for her… But that will never happen.

She's left you behind, and nothing will bring her back. You can't quite blame her for doing so. You've left her behind many times as well. And you've slept around right in front of her face on more instances than you care to count.

You blink slowly, watching her leave and remembering that deer-in-the-headlights look she'd gotten in her eyes when you'd asked her if she was looking for a one-night stand. As you watch her follow the man out Joe's front door, it turns out you weren't too far off the mark.

_**. . .**_

_**As she walks out the door, your blood boiling and your stomach in ropes.**_

_**Oh, and your friends say, "What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."**_

_**. . .**_

"Hey, we're going home."

Though words are floating past your hear, you don't waste time to decode them into sentences. You can't do anything but stare at the darkened doorway, your eyes following the wooden door until it finally swings shut. You're holding yourself back; you know going after her won't solve anything or change what's been broken between you two. Your relationship with her—whatever it was and whatever it is now—has been damaged too badly to ever be fixed. It's time to come to terms with that, you tell yourself. It's time to come to terms with the face that you yourself have been damaged too badly to be fixed.

"Mark? We're going home."

You turn your head when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Callie Torres is standing beside you, and her wife is standing beside her. You stare at them in quiet shock: in the emotional chaos of everything that's happened in the last half-hour, you had completely forgotten they were here. Since the moment she stepped into the bar, it had truly seemed like you and her were the only two who mattered, who existed.

But there are others out in the world, you realize bitterly, remembering the unknown man she'd left with. There are other people in this world besides you and her.

"Right," you reply a few seconds too late. "Bye."

Callie stares at you, and you stare right back, watching as her gaze gets more and more worried as the silent seconds tick by. "Are you okay?" She asks quietly a moment later.

"I'm fine," you lie happily, slapping a smile on your face and acting like you just won the lottery. A second too late, you realize you're laying it on too thick.

"Mark," she murmurs. Now she's leaning towards you, effectively cutting Arizona out of the conversation and making this a 'best friend' moment. "I can stay if you…"

"Why would you need to stay? I said I was fine."

She gives you a look as if to say, 'you don't look fine,' but she doesn't come right out and say it. She just stares at you, and when she's realized you won't be offering any information, she sighs and steps back. "We're going to go home, then."

"Bye," you say again, already turning back to the bar.

Though you're positive you weren't supposed to notice, you hear Arizona whisper something in her wife's ear, something along the lines of 'you know _she_ was here, right? You saw _her, _didn't you?' You hear Callie sigh at her wife's words, and you hope to God that she isn't about to take a seat beside you.

Thinking it might encourage them to move along, you ignore the two women muttering behind your back and finish your drink. You quickly motion for another, and rapidly down what you know will only be your first of many tonight. After your third serving, you glance over your shoulder, but you aren't relieved anymore that your best friend is gone.

You feel your self-esteem plummet to even lower depths as you stare at the three empty glasses before you—a fourth cradled in your hands—and you realize that you've officially become the drunk girl in the bar. You can see the lone women glancing over to you every few seconds, and you can feel them hover and circle around you. Knowing one of them will walk up sooner or later—swooping in like a vulture preparing to clean up a kill—you force yourself to get to your feet and head to the door. You can drink elsewhere, more dangerously and with fewer limits, in the privacy and emptiness of your own home.

_**. . .**_

_**And you walk under the streetlights. **_

_**And you're too drunk to notice that everyone is staring at you.**_

_**You don't care what you look like; the world is falling around you.**_

_**. . .**_

You're pretty sure you're stumbling down the sidewalk. You feel like you're walking, but after four straight scotches in a matter of minutes and not hours, you know you wouldn't be capable of that level of coordination.

You're half-scared of your own inebriation. You haven't gotten this drunk in a long time—probably because you hadn't had a chance like this with her in a long time. _A chance that was only a mirage_, you think bitterly. Or say bitterly. _Did I say that aloud? _You wonder. And then you ask the question again, because you still can't separate your thoughts from the garbled words that are coming out of your mouth.

After a few frustrated seconds of trying to make up your mind, you stop wondering. No one would be listening to you if you were speaking anyway, because there's barely a soul out on the street this late, so who cares if you're polluting the air with your meaningless questions and commentary on the unfairness of life and everyone involved?

It starts raining as you're staggering down the dark streets, and if this wasn't the rain capital of the country, you might wonder if the sudden downpour was a non-subtle hint at your future.

You grin drunkenly, remembering earlier in the night when you equated her shining entrance to Joe's with a cliché-filled romantic comedy: and that it could have been. Maybe taking a chance and leaving with that stranger from the bar was her embarking on a new and bright romantic journey. Maybe they'll spend more time talking and laughing tonight than they will do fucking, and they'll end up married by the time credits roll.

You were right before: she does have a part in a romantic comedy. She's bright and shiny, and after having so many dark and twisted relationships, she deserves something happy, clichéd as it may seem.

You, on the other hand, don't. You're the nosy ex-boyfriend who gets left by the wayside. You're the underdog, but you aren't being rooted for. You're the guy the audience never pities.

_**. . .**_

_**You just have to see her.**_

_**You just have to see her.**_

_**You just have to see her.**_

_**. . .**_

Just as the rain is beginning to peter out, you find yourself at Meredith's house. As you stumble up her driveway, wonder if this was planned before you left. Did your feet bring you here because they somehow knew that this is where you wanted to be? As you stare up at the house, you can see a light flicker on in one of the upstairs rooms. Your view is shrouded by a curtain, but you can see figures moving, shadows crossing the illuminated room.

And for some sick reason, you want a better view. For some sick reason, you find yourself making your way across the lawn, still wet from the rain, to look in the adjacent window on the other side of the house. There's no curtain, and though you hate yourself for doing so, you can't look away. You tell yourself it's the alcohol slowing your actions and clouding your judgment, but you know it's only her. She's driving you insane, just like she always has: first with the lust you had to repress, then with the love you didn't know how to express, and now with the heartbreak you're certain you'll never move past.

You watch as she laughs and smiles before kissing him, the nameless man from the bar, and when you blink, your brain draws up the memories and feelings of when she did just the same with you. You watch as her eyes fall closed as his lips move to the curve of her neck, but when her lower lip drops, it's your name you can hear escape her mouth in a needy moan. You see her hands grip his shoulders and you suddenly feel the need to roll yours. You swallow when his hands cup her hips, and when he backs her towards the bed, you finally manage to close your eyes.

But cutting off the visuals doesn't bring you any solace or peace, nor freedom from the sight of her with someone else. The images of them together are burned in your brain—and she can attack you with those just as easily as through your own memories. In your inebriated state, you're undecided as to which hurts more.

When you close your eyes, you can see her beneath you, above you, all around you. You can hear her laugh ring to your left, you can hear her breath catch and gasp to your right… You can feel her skin slide against yours all over your body, and all at once it's become too much.

_You're torturing yourself again_, you realize. _You have to stop torturing yourself._ In an attempt to follow your own advice, you open your eyes, swallow, and look down. You stare at the wet grass, trying to remember which direction is home and how far you'll have to walk before you'll arrive there.

_**. . .**_

_**You just have to see her,**_

_**You know that she'll break you in two.**_

_**. . .**_

Author's Note: So I wrote this in about the last three hours; I kept listening to the song and after a little while I just had to write it all down.

Please review and tell me what you think! Reviews make me feel almost as good as Mark and Lexie getting back together :)


End file.
